


Dear Stranger

by 1StrangenessandCharm1



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Letters, Love, Romance, Strangers, fate?, letters to a stranger, rampant sexual tension, red wine, so thick you could cut it with a knife
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-15
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-17 21:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3544925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1StrangenessandCharm1/pseuds/1StrangenessandCharm1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Felicity finds a quill on the window display of a little old shop. Born out of her lack of any real person to talk to and advice she heard from someone long forgotten comes a series of letters addressed to a beautiful stranger she sees on the subway. These letters hold every one of her secrets, and she's promised herself that she'll never send them... ( T for now.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

_Dear Stranger,_

  
_I found this old quill in the window of a pawn shop as I walked by. I’m not 100% sure what about it caught my eye. It’s nothing special really, just a dark green feather that has a couple of breaks and ruffles here and there. I was told once that sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone you don’t really know, a third party that has absolutely nothing to do with what’s going on in your life is often the best way to vent about things. Of course there’s always the best friend, the super close sibling, and sometimes the parent that’s oftentimes even more reliable than the closest of confidants._

_It’s unpleasant when you have no one to talk to. When everyone included in the small circle that is your social life aren’t the kind of people you can turn to and talk to._

_Maybe that’s why I’m doing this. I won’t lie to you (that would defeat the whole purpose of this thing). I’m kind of a genius. My IQ is ridiculously high, and a lot of the time I find that my mind just won’t stop working. I lie awake at night and sometimes I find myself in a state of limbo. Like my head just won’t stop working, a constant stream of thoughts and memories and theories chasing each other around, but my body is too tired to do anything but lie there and try to slip into sleep._

_I need it all to just slow down. I’m tired stranger. I’m so very tired._

_I picked you today, though if I’m being completely honest I’ve had the feeling that I would chose you for a while. Don’t flatter yourself. It has nothing to do with your god-like good looks or the fact that you’ve got a body that I find ten different kinds of amazing and/or delicious._

_It had more to do with your eyes than anything else. Have you ever seen the movie “Blue is the Warmest Color”? If you haven’t I highly recommend that you do. It’s beautiful. Beautiful enough that I required an entire pint of mint chip to watch my way through it, and mint chip is a powerful thing I’ll have you know. I don’t break out that kind of chocolate goodness for just anything. It’s the food equivalent of a couture dress or pair of panda faced flats. There is just no comparison. Anyway, I picked you because your eyes are the most ridiculous shade of blue I have ever seen. You were all the way on the other side of the train, and still I could see them. Blue is the kind of color that isn’t warm, it should be cold, or maybe refreshing. But yours are, and I can’t explain it._

_I realize that I’m rambling (I’ve got a bit of problem when it comes to that kind of thing) and dear god do I desperately wish that I had chosen to do this with a pencil and not a quill with real actual ink (you have no idea how hard it is to find a good old fashioned bottle of ink in this town). Maybe that way I could actually erase all the random useless things I end up saying and get to the bottom of things. The cream in the center of a particularly good doughnut if you will. Only in this case the doughnut is my life and the cream is everything I wish I could tell somebody and precisely what I have no one to say it to._

_I had a small fantasy the other day (don’t worry it’s not the naughty kind, although…) of you and me enjoying a particularly good bottle of wine. I haven’t yet decided what kind we picked. Every time the fantasy plays out in my head it changes to a new kind, but I will tell you that I absolutely have a thing for red wine. Keep that in mind._

_I’ve let this letter run on for far too long right now, but I think maybe I said everything that I needed to say._

_I know you’re never going to get this letter, it’s really more of a thing for me. I think it’s time I finally did something for myself._

_Good luck, until we meet again stranger._

_yours truly,_

_Felicity_


	2. Chapter 2

The walls of this hospital are a calming blue. Pure and solid and giving the desired effect of a well funded and fully staffed medical institution. I wish I could say the same about the hospital in the Glades, where everyone rushes around because there aren’t enough nurses or doctors and the walls are painted an ugly shade of green that reminds me of vomit. I don’t know why I did it, but I couldn’t stand to see him in that room anymore, the small window facing the wrong direction so that no sunlight could find its way inside. The ugly fluorescent lights that flickered too much and made the small room look like something out of a scary hospital movie or a scene in a post apocalyptic movie where someone just woke up and they have no idea what’s going on.

I walk into his new room as easily as I did the old one, but I feel a smile tug at the corners of my lips at the obvious difference. This room is smaller than the one he had in the old hospital, but the window that takes most of the wall furthest from the door actually lets light in, encasing Mr. Diggle in a steady stream of warmth that makes the extra amount I have to pay for him to be in this hospital more than worth it.

There is a small table next to his bed, I wheel it towards me and set my bag down. I stare at Mr. Diggle’s face even as I pull the quill and the special thick paper I decided I would use for these letters.

_Dear Stranger,_

_I think you’d like John Diggle. He’s a soldier, at least that’s what the information the hospital gave me said. I don’t really know much about him, just that he was in Kandahar and was home on temporary leave when his car got hit by a drunk driver. I suppose it is weird that I’m talking to you about Mr. Diggle, and you must have a lot of questions. I promise I’ll try to keep it simple, though that’s not always my strong suit, as you will soon discover if you have already not._

_Ahem._

_I used to volunteer at the Glades hospital, helping whenever I could. The nurses and doctors always looked so completely stressed out, and really I understood. There were always just so many sick and injured people, and not enough equipment and staff to help everyone. I found John Diggle in the part of the hospital that’s reserved for long term patients. He’d been in a coma for seven months. Have you ever met a person, or just looked at their face, and immediately realized “yes, this is someone I can trust, someone that can be a friend?”_

_That’s what happened to me with John Diggle. I took one look at his face and felt that right there was a man I could be good friends with. There’s a calmness and strength to him (yes I know he’s in a coma so calmness is kind of a given) but it’s more than that really. And the strength. His muscles are huge, yes (don’t ask me how he’s still so buff after being in a coma for so long, it’s not something I can give you a proper answer to)… but the strength I’m talking about is the kind that comes from within. Maybe I’m hoping that if I hang around him enough I can borrow a little of his. Wouldn’t that be nice?_

_I started visiting him every day, mostly because I noticed that no one else ever did. I checked with the staff to make sure, but no one ever came looking for him. All I was told is that the army was made aware of his current state, and he had one visitor (a fellow soldier) stop by several months ago. Even so, I left a note with the staff there when I had him moved to Starling City General. I hope it doesn’t get lost, I hate to think someone might not find Mr. Diggle if they ever go looking for him._

_I’m happy that I moved him though. Starling City General is without a doubt a much nicer hospital, and I’m sure the Glades hospital is glad I had him taken off their hands. They’re really is just too much for them to do, and it’s not like their patients can afford to come here. He’s better off here. I’m sure of it._

_I didn’t see you today. I promise I’m not a stalker (although I am explicitly aware that this is exactly what a stalker would say, but bear with me). It’s just hard not to take notice when the hottie who takes the same train as you Monday through Friday at the same time and always sits in the same seat doesn’t show up. I wonder what you could be up to. Maybe you were sick. Maybe you took a vacation day. Or maybe you don’t take the train to work and you’re like that guy that sits behind me, taking the train simply because he likes to watch the city go by, fade into suburbia and then see the sparse open terrain between Starling and Coast City that lasts for exactly four minutes before we’re back to society. Whatever the reason for your absence, I hope you’re well._

_I have to go now, the nurse is coming in to move his limbs (something about the small amount of exercise keeping his muscles from atrophying at a faster pace) and I like to help out. I think it’d be nice to be a nurse. It’s too late for me of course, computers are my real passion. I’ll just have to find the time to go back and volunteer._

_See you soon (maybe)._

_Felicity_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Wow! I didn't think it would take me so long to churn this next part out, and I do feel a little sad that it's still so short. I've hit one of those writer's blocks where you mostly know what's going to happen, but you're not really sure how to go about writing it. I'm sure most of us have been there at one point or another. Fear not though, this story is most definitely not abandoned. Again, thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read/favorite/follow/review. You are all wonderful people and I wish you all the best. Please review :).
> 
> -M


	3. Chapter 3

_II._

_Dear Stranger,_

_You’ve been gone for a week now. Which is a shame really, because it just makes me think that maybe something bad did happen to you. I hope that’s not the case, but people don’t usually disappear for entire weeks just because. Unless of course you’re on vacation. Fingers crossed and prayers sent out to whatever is really out there that such is the case._

_That’s it! Bright cheerful thoughts. Sandy beaches and bright sunshine and drinks in real coconuts with those colorful umbrellas. I must confess something, I like to collect those little umbrellas. Or at least I always try to, but as smart as I can be when it comes to computers I am hopelessly scatter brained when it comes to packing and remembering things. I have seven of those little umbrellas total, when if I’d been able to keep them all I’d have at least twenty. Enough to make something cool._

_Ramble over. Back to the original topic. Bright cheerful thoughts!_

_Mr. Diggle’s fingers fluttered today, and there was a random spike in his heartbeat. The doctors told me that it was probably nothing, but I’m pretty sure they’re just saying that so that I don’t get my hopes up. I’ve seen enough medical dramas to know how their minds work, they can’t fool me! Speaking of which, I must confess that I like to watch House M.D. when I’m with Mr. Diggle. I like to imagine that Hugh Laurie (who is some undeniable kind of sexy I can’t even begin to describe) bursts in through the doors and starts browbeating me until I agree to some radical medical procedure that will miraculously revive Mr. Diggle and result being that by agreeing House was able to save his life from some random and completely unexpected medical disease thingy that I have a hard time pronouncing._

_Spoiler alert. It’s never Lupus._

_I like to think that I’d have a better time fighting against Hugh Laurie in such a role, and that he wouldn’t be able to bully me like he does so many others on the show. But who am I kidding? Not only is he sexy (don’t ask me why, he just is) but he’s got gorgeous blue eyes. What can I say? I’m a sucker for blue eyes (something I’ve already confessed to you) but worry not! Yours are still my favorite. Maybe one of these days I’ll have the courage to strike up a conversation with you. Wouldn’t that be something?_

_Or maybe not. I’d probably only embarrass myself and drop some incredibly inappropriate sexual innuendo. If you think I’m bad with the rambles on paper, buddy… you have seen nothing yet._

_What was I talking about? OH YES! Mr. Diggle. Fingers and spiking heartbeats. It would be simply the greatest thing right now if Mr. Diggle were to wake up. I imagine he would have a lot of questions. “What’s going on? Where am I? I was in a comma for how long?” And probably (who am I kidding he’s most definitely going to ask this) “who are you?”_

_It’s not every day a random volunteer takes over your medical expenses and has you transferred to a hospital that’s nicer than the one you’re at while you’re in a coma._

_Seriously could you imagine if that kind of thing was an every day occurrence? I hope he wakes up soon. It makes me sad to think that he’s loosing so much time. He’d already been in a comma for seven months when I met him. By now it’s been a year and two months. Losing a night after getting shit faced drunk can be bad enough. Loosing more than a year because of some jerk off who decided that it was okay to drink and drive is beyond words._

_I should hack into that man’s records and do terrible horrible things to his credit score and make his life even more impossible. I should, really. But he’s already facing an extremely long prison sentence, maybe this time I’ll just the let the courts do their jobs._

_Good talk stranger. Hope you’re enjoying your sandy beaches and fruity drinks._

_yours truly,_

_Felicity_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who kudoded... kudo'd... kudod? I'm not sure. But thank you anyway!


	4. Chapter 4

_III._

_Dear Stranger,_

_I’ve been a bad letter writing buddy person… thing. I’ve realized today that the point of these letters was to talk to you. Well… not really talk to you obviously. I’ve learned now (as I continue to learn) that I am a coward. These letters will never reach you. I don’t think I’ll ever have the courage to smile at you like I want to. To flutter my fingers in your general direction and let my face tell you “Yes it’s me; Felicity Smoak, and I’d like to get to know you”. I’ll never get to have that conversation with you that I’ve been imagining for months. The one where we talk about everything and anything and absolutely nothing. I’ll ramble at you about my favorite shows and the incredibly inappropriate amount of time I spend on tumblr and stalking the writers of my favorite shows on twitter and you’ll smile at me awkwardly because you don’t really know how to stop me. I’ll eventually catch myself of course, and I’ll blush and apologize for sticking my foot in my mouth. Then I’ll ask you about you. You’ll raise your eyebrows at me, like you’re not really sure I know how to listen considering I talk so much. And you’ll give me general information. Like your first name (which I’ve yet to know). What you do for a living maybe, though nothing too specific. And the list goes on._

_It’s strange how active my imagination can be. But I think that maybe, just this time… my crazy imagination picked an incredibly likely scenario._

_I sound downright stalker-ish right now. Just a second while I take a moment to compose myself._

_Cowardice is shameful, and I’ve been nothing but. I showered the last few letters I’ve written to you with nothing but unimportant information. Rambling on about Hugh Laurie and the like. It’s so me really. Not just the rambling, but hiding behind superficial stuff._

_If I can’t even bring myself to talk about the important things when I have the luxury of writing them down and knowing that no one but me will ever read them, how will I ever actually talk to you?_

_So here it is. This is me. Plain and bare and alone._

_My name is Felicity Smoak. I am 25 years old. I have dark brown hair but I dye it blonde. My eyes are blue and I have terrible eyesight. I don’t really have any friends and the one person I consider to be one is currently in a coma and I’ve never even spoken to him because I met him when he was in said coma. I am coward and I know for a fact that I will never approach you of my own volition because that kind of moxie just isn’t in my character._

_… my doctor suggested I start talking to a psychiatrist today. She thinks I may have some sort of issue._

_I know for a fact I have more than just one issue._

_Coward coward coward._

_I should change my name to Rumplestiltskin…_

_…. I can’t talk about it now. Honestly… I just… I can’t… Even thinking about it make my heart squeeze in that painful way that reminds me that I am, tragically, still capable of feeling the pain of something that happened what seems like so long ago… but in all reality will always also feel like it happened just yesterday as well._

_I don’t think a psychiatrist is in the cards for me right now. Maybe soon. But not yet… I hope you understand._

_I realize now that this letter really tells you less than the others did, but I think that at the same time it tells you a lot more than the other ones._

_I miss my brother…_

_Felicity_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I of course realized that at the pace I was going with these letters, I would lose interesting my own story long before any semblance of an actual plot began to take form. If I felt that way I can only imagine what some of you may have thought. Regardless of the fact, I want to thank everyone who took the time to read this story and review/favorite/follow. You are all beautiful people and I thank you very seriously. I think I’ve finally found my mojo for this story, so things will start to pick up from here. Please leave a review, they greatly motivate me and I appreciate your words and feedback.
> 
> -M


	5. Chapter 5

IV.

Sometimes I like to think that she’ll get up and talk to me. Or that maybe one day, instead of making her way to the other side of the train compartment we inevitably share five days a week, she’ll sit herself in the one across the isle. Or maybe even on the one that’s right in front of me. That really would be something.

She’s pretty in that “girl next door” kind of way. She’s small skirts and sweaters over button downs and sensible heels or flats. Only she’s more than just “pretty”. When this girl smiles, she really is just beautiful.

If Tommy were here he’d probably smack me upside the head for not talking to her. I miss him sometimes, my wild and out of control best friend that barely had to try to get me looking for fun and adventures in exactly the best ways to get into some sort of trouble. Back in the old days, if I had seen her in a club or at a bar, or even a coffee shop or the park, Tommy would have teased me mercilessly until I gave in and talked to the pretty girl that had managed to turn my head.

With Tommy by my side, I would have spoken to Ms. Panda Shoes a long time ago, instead of sitting in my seat and doing my best not to look in her direction. I succeed most of the time, occupying myself with whatever entertainment my laptop or phone have to offer. “Play it cool Oliver,” I remind myself. No need to scare Ms. Panda Shoes by staring at her like some enamored school boy. I can only imagine the kind of reaction she would have if she caught me looking at her.

Except she did once. A couple weeks ago, in one of my weaker moments when I gave into my curiosity and looked at her because I was almost positive that the little black marks that decorated her sweater were mustaches and not birds. Her eyes flashed over to me and caught me looking before I had the time to look away like a decent person does whenever they’re caught staring. I felt my face flush with embarrassment, and out of the corner of my eye I looked over and saw her once again looking out the window. Only this time her bottom lip was caught firmly by her teeth, as if she were keeping herself from smiling.

Smooth Oliver.

—

The day Felicity Smoak finally comes into my life is a day just like any other. Except - as I would later learn was typical Felicity fashion - she doesn’t just enter it smoothly. She crashes and stumbles and babbles her way in. Ms. Panda Shoes - my preferred name for her before I knew her real one - is a cyclone of bright colors and shuffling papers and random a bottle of ink that falls out of her oversized purse and spills its contents over almost everything. Including my shoes.

Why she has - or rather had - a bottle of ink is beyond me. How she managed to trip over a perfectly flat surface and toss everything everywhere is even more of a mystery.

Whatever fates or forces are at work, I’m not about to question them.

The fact that mortification has never looked more adorable than on her face is also something I’m not about to question. I slip out of my seat quickly, my hands darting to help her pick everything up. Many of the things that had been in her purse are a lost cause. I find myself hoping for her sake that she didn’t keep too many important things in here, but for the most part it all seems to be random clutter and receipts and unwrapped pieces of candy. How she’s ever able to find anything inside this horrifying mess is completely beyond me.

Another one of the passengers shuffles over, offering a random plastic bag with a small smile on their face. Ms. Panda Shoe’s answering smile is just as small as she wordlessly accepts the plastic bag.

Most of the clutter at our feet finds its way into the bag, a small frown decorating her face as she - rather reluctantly - dumps the candy inside along with all the other ink covered contents. Her wallet seems to have survived the worst of it, everything inside miraculously dry and only a couple of blotches decoding the outside.

“I think you should keep it,” I pipe up when she looks like she’s about to start taking everything out and throw it away. Her ridiculously blue eyes flash up to mine, the blush on her cheeks darkening. I find myself grinning at her. “Gives it character,” I clarify.

She purses her lips and nods, but otherwise says nothing, tucking the wallet back into her purse along with a phone I hadn’t seen on her before that looks completely unscathed. I pick up the bag full of ink stained items and walk over to the trash container at the end of the compartment. A nervous sweat breaks out across my forehead, and I wipe away at it. It wouldn’t do to sweat through my clothes when I finally have the chance to talk to her.

I can tell when I turn around that had intended to go back to her usual seat. This won’t do, so as casually as I can I block her path, motioning with my hand that she take a seat opposite mine. Her teeth gnaw on her bottom lip, but she nods, tripping slightly over her own feet as she moved to take a seat.

Again there is nothing but completely flat carpeting. This girl might just be a menace to herself.

I struggle to say something. Anything really. Finally, I have the chance to talk to her, I should say something suave that’ll impress her and maybe even open up the possibility of her going and getting some coffee with me. Iced of course. The hot kind might be tempting fate a little.

“Hi.”  
Fucking smooth.

Her brows twitch a little before her lips break into uneasy smile. “Hey.”

It’s criminal how nervous I am around this girl. I’m used to this being easy, a smile and witty remark normally getting the conversation rolling. I dig around for that easy charm that I’ve used so many times before.

“So,” I begin, hoping that the grin on my face is more charming than creepy. “Umm… messy.” I say, motioning towards the spot on the floor where the stain of the ink was still very much fresh.

….what?

Before I have time to feel properly embarrassed at my lack of ability to form a proper sentence, she giggles. Her cheeks are flushed and her hand is covering her mouth, but she’s not looking me in the eyes, her gaze focused just a little higher.

“Sorry about that,” she says, distracting me from my thoughts. “I thought I’d put the lid on tight enough.”

That’s right, the source of the mess had been a bottle of ink. “Why did you have a bottle of ink?” I ask, curiosity getting the better of me.

If possible she blushes even harder than she had earlier. Despite my lack of ability to be as charming as I’d like to be with Ms. Panda Shoes, it does nothing on my ability to read her face and body language. She hunches in on herself just a little, and I can practically see the gears of her mind working.

Whatever story she’d tried to come up with obviously hadn’t been all that good because when she speaks again, I know it’s the truth. “I like to write letters the old fashioned way.”

“Family members?”

“No.” Hmmm, interesting. She backtracks immediately though, “I mean yes, of course. Who else would I send letters to?” Ms. Panda Shoes makes a funny face, rolling her eyes and hiking one corner of her mouth as if to say “duh”. Interesting, I wonder why she’s lying.

“I don’t know. Friends?” I shrug, deciding not to call her out on the lie. It’s not like she owes me anything. Except for maybe a new pair of shoes. These are definitely a lost cause.

“I suppose there is that.”

“Pen-pals.” I toss out, eager to keep the easy conversation flowing.

“Don’t those go with the friends category.”

“I think they can be different enough to be part of both categories.” She nods at this, considering my answer. “

“Inmates.” 

“Eww, what? No!”

I laughed then, “Why eww?”

“I don’t know just, eww.”

“Don’t you know anyone that’s ever been in jail?”

“Please, the most illegal thing that anyone in my family has done is accidentally eat a pot brownie. Spoiler alert, she’s allergic to nuts. It didn’t end well.” She pointed at herself as she recounted her little story, and I felt myself smiling like a fool.

“Okay then.” We spend the next fifteen minutes in much the same way, with me tossing possible letter recipients at her. Her responses varying comically, especially when I begin to get more specific. But the train ride from Starling to Coast City is only twenty five minutes, and all too soon the train starts slowing down. She looks around too, as if she’s surprised that we’ve made it to our destination so soon. I almost wish that the cities were hours and not minutes away from each other.

“What’s your name?” I ask as soon as she gets up to leave. It might be my only chance. Ms. Panda Shoes is a nice nickname, but I’m not really sure I would want to call her that to her face the next time I see her.

“Felicity.”

“Felicity… I’m Oliver.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oop! There it is! Their first official meeting and an Oliver POV chapter! What did y'all think? :)


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